Place of the Seventh
by I am Lara daughter of Hecate
Summary: Crysta Levesque is the twin of Hazel Levesque. One of The Seven. Daughter of Pluto. Falling for Jason Grace. And No, that is NOT a good thing. Especially with his slightly-obsessed sort-of girlfriend Piper, who is competing with her for the Spot of the Seventh. REWRITING!


**A/N: Hiiiiiiiiii! Welcome to Say Hello To Absolute Tartarus! Woot! Official prologue! Let's get cracking shall we? Crysta Levesque is two years older than Hazel so that makes her 15 and Hazel's curse was inflicted on her. It was what she feared most and when she touched one of Hazel's jewels, well it came true.**

_C'mon, C'mon, with everything falling down around me_

_I'd like to believe in all the possibilities._

_If I should I should die tonight,_

_May I first just say I'm sorry._

_For I, never felt like anybody._

_-__**C'MON BY PANIC AT THE DISCO! AND FUN.**_

I bolted for home, my little sister Hazel at my side as we sprinted towards the shack. We skidded to a stop as we saw no possessed mother there.

"Haze, I don't think she's in. Mother is probably working late, possibly?" I looked around.

Me and my sister's eyes widened in horror as we gazed at the note.

_Wicked girls. I'm waiting at the island. Don't disappoint me._

I took a moment to assess the room. Our shared mattress was shredded and Hazel's drawing pad and colors were broken beyond repair. My own gift, a small, fragile figurine of a ballerina was too, beheaded and unfixable. Her beautifully carved face was cracked into an ugly expression. Her legs were in little pieces, I looked away and met Hazel's golden eyes that matched mine.

We took the small rowboat that mother had traded for some gold nuggets. The unlucky fisherman who had bought them then suffocated in his net the next day. We paddled quickly; we didn't want to anger The Voice further by tardiness.

The island shimmered in the ghostly fog and a warning bell dinged in my head. It was telling me to get my skinny butt back to shore and fast.

The top of a whale skimmed the cold waters of Resurrection Bay as the island came into full view. Hazel stopped once to be sick and I felt my stomach clench with queasiness too.

"Haze, whatever happens, just let the consequences be on me. I let us stay out late and made mother mad. It's really my fault, to be truthful." I looked at Hazel, feeling my light mocha skin flush with guiltiness.

"What do you mean? You got the time wrong, it's not easy, deciphering the sun." Hazel frowned.

"Hazel, I didn't get the time wrong. I was selfish, okay? I wanted to stay longer and pretended I thought it was earlier. I got us into this mess and I've got to get us out." I bit my lip as Hazel's eyes darkened at my confession.

"Crysta, you've never been selfish. It was about time anyway and just because you are older by two years does not mean you take responsibility for everything bad." Hazel admitted.

A black shape flittered and landed on the tip of our boat.

"Hazel, you see the raven, correct?" I asked as the raven's glittering eyes flickered up at us. The understanding and intelligence shone clear in its eyes.

"Tonight. The last night." It squabbled. I looked at it shocked but Hazel showed no surprise on her face.

"Are you from our father?" Hazel asked curiously. We let the oars rest and I leant forward towards the raven.

"The last night. Tonight." It squawked before pecking at the boat and taking off towards the island.

Yes, it would be the last night. The last night The Voice ever took over our mother. The last time Hazel and I were afraid of the night and our own mother. This would be the last.

We rowed on with more strength than ever and we entered the beach.

Over the months, Hazel, mother and I had created a path from the beach into the woods. We hiked inland, careful to stick to the path. The island was full of dangers, both natural and supernatural.

Bears rustled in the undergrowth. Glowing misty spirits, vaguely human, drifted through the trees. Hazel and I don't know what they are, but we both knew they were watching us, hoping we would stray into their hands.

Two large black boulders formed an entrance into a cavern that Hazel liked to call The Heart of the Earth, for some reason it felt surprisingly fitting.

The air was warm and sickly and it felt like some sort of sleeping gas, trying to subtly lull you to sleep. Hazel's eyes slightly glazed over but snapped back to their liquid gold state.

The cavern was humongous and the walls were decorated with different mosses of unnatural colors. For some it may feel homey and perfect, for me? It made the warning bells go higher and louder.

To me this place was alive. The earth was asleep, but it pulsated with power. Its dreams were so malicious, so fitful, that I felt myself losing my strong grip on reality.

Gaea wanted to consume mine and Hazel's identity, just as she'd overwhelmed Hazel's and I's mother. She wanted to consume every mortal, immortal being, and demigod that dared to walk across her surface.

You all belong to me, Gaea murmured like a lullaby. Surrender. Return to the earth.

Never, I furiously snapped in my head. I'm Crysta Fortuna Levesque. You cannot and will not have me.

Marie Levesque stood over the pit. In six or so months, her hair had turned as gray as gray could be. She'd lost a lot of weight. Her hands were gnarled and calloused from hard work. She wore snow boots and waders and a stained white shirt from the diner. She never would have been mistaken for a queen much less any sort of royalty.

"It's too late now." Her mother's frail voice echoed through the cavern. I realized with a start that it was her voice—not stupid Gaea's.

"Mother?" Hazel and I chorused.

Marie turned. Her eyes were open. She was awake and conscious. This should have made me feel hopeful, but it made me jittery. The Voice had never relinquished control while they were on the island.

"What have I done?" her mother asked helplessly. "Oh, Hazel, Crysta, what did I do to you?"

My mother stared in horror at the deep pit and I looked at my mother, the tiniest slivers of sympathy slipped into my emotions which were pushed fiercely back by resentment and bitterness.

For months we've been coming here, four or five nights a week as the Voice required. Hazel and I have sobbed, wailed, collapse with exhaustion, we've begged, we'd given in to hopelessness. But the Voice that controlled her mother had urged us on relentlessly. Bring valuables from the earth. Use your powers, child. Bring my most valuable possession to me, Gaea would persuade us.

At first, our efforts had brought only scorn. The fissure in the earth had filled with gold and precious stones, bubbling in a thick soup of petroleum. It looked like a dragon's treasure dumped in a tar pit. Then, slowly, a rock spire began to grow like a massive tulip bulb. It emerged so gradually, night after night, that me and Hazel had trouble judging its progress. Often we concentrated all night on raising it, until our mind and soul were exhausted, but we didn't notice any difference. Yet the spire did grow. Now I really could see how much we'd accomplished. The thing was two stories high, a swirl of rocky tendrils jutting like a spear tip from the oily morass. Inside, something glowed with heat. I couldn't see it clearly, but I knew what was happening. A body was forming out of silver and gold, with oil for blood and raw diamonds for a heart. Hazel and I were resurrecting the son of Gaea. He was almost ready to wake up now. It was our entire fault. I remember my favourite quote from a Roman leader.

_The fault is not in our stars, but in ourselves._


End file.
